Absent.  That at least I’ve been.

This week has been my “on call” week, and a week from hell itself it has been.

My father’s condition remains troubling at best, worsening given the headaches, the aggressive growth of one—if not two—tumors.  And what agony our “modern medicine” causes with its inability to move, to act, to respond to what requires attention, its inept nature, its very “we’re taking yet another guess” mentality.  Are we in the Dark Ages again?

Trials and tribulations with my employer vex me to no end.  To say it’s been a busy week would be to understate it by orders of magnitude.

The list goes on, yes, with relocation plans and job changes and the like, with work on my novels, with attempts to call on friends whom I’ve not seen in quite some time, with attempts to visit upon The Kids the time they deserve…

The list goes on.

I admit I’m overwhelmed at present, clinging to the edifice of desperation that wings its way from life’s cannibalistic nature to the very heart of my being.

I’m ready to weep, to lament my existence.

Or scream.